We’re to dance or be strung up, sans the ability to flee;
Each string pulls to make a move, each planned for you an I;
The strings, they feel so strong yet stay so invisible;
Can we, can we, hope to ever be free from thee?

Oh dearie me it seems, it seems, we’ve been a doll all this time;
Oh my, oh why, can we not seek the gates to let us free;
I wish to be cut the string but my scissors are dulled with fear;
Oh, escaping out of here is quite the redundant idea!

So now I must dance, never may I miss a step out of beat;
My legs and arms they feel so tired, yet the audience is yet retired;
The puppeteer I’ve yet so see, nay it may only look upon me;
Yet once she finds me tiresome, the strings drop to no longer form commands;
My arms, my legs, my hands, my feet, my everything is numb, I’m sans anyone.